


Be Careful What You Wish For

by teacuphuman



Series: 2016 Inception Kink Bingo [13]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cam boy Eames, Cybersex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames falls for a man from his camsite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Careful What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cybersex square on my Inception Kink Bingo card.

PointManOne has been Eames best customer since about six months after he signed on. Strapped for cash and facing the loss of his student visa if he couldn’t afford his courses, Eames bought a webcam, joined a gay porn site, and started posting videos. He did his homework on these kinds of sites, and he’s careful to keep his backgrounds simple, and his face out of frame. There isn’t much he can do to hide his tattoos, and most of the men on the site like them, so he tries not to worry too much.

 

His first video had been awkward and stilted, but PointManOne calls it charming, and Eames has grown to trust his judgement. He does group chats, private shows, and prefab videos that people on the site can purchase and access to for a limited time. He has a small group of loyal fans that he’s usually happy to accommodate, and the mods on the site help weed out the more persistent and abusive users.

 

Eames is getting ready for a group chat when his private message notification dings. 

 

**PointManOne: Not going to make it tonight, have fun.**

 

Eames frowns at the screen. PointMan doesn’t usually say much in the group chats, but just knowing he’s there helps to put Eames at ease. He types out a response and hits enter.

 

**BIGDREAMER: No prvt show later then?**

 

**PointManOne: Sorry, no.**

 

Eames wouldn’t say he’s pouting exactly, but he may be considering cancelling the chat altogether. He knows he won’t, he needs the funds it generates, but he kind of wishes he could. His notification dings with another message.

 

**PointManOne: Are you upset?**

 

Eames sighs, knowing being upset won’t actually change anything.

 

**BIGDREAMER: Yes, but not @u.**

 

**PointManOne: I’m 12 hrs ahead of you and I have a meeting. You know I’d be there if I could.**

 

**BIGDREAMER: I know.**

 

Eames really needs to get going, but they never sign off without saying goodbye so he knows there’s another message coming.

 

**PointManOne: If you gave me your number I could call you when I’m done.**

 

Eames bites his lip. It’s a request PointMan’s made before, and Eames’ resolve wavers every time. He wants to, God, does he want to, but he just can’t be absolutely sure this guy isn’t going to turn into a problem down the line. Another message pops up before he can change his mind.

 

**PointManOne: I have to go, but we’ll talk soon. Be safe.**

 

Eames breathes a sigh of relief and sends off a goodbye. He checks his webcam to make sure his head won’t be shown, and logs into the site. 25 users are already waiting for him to make an appearance so he gets out the lube and starts the show.

  
  
  


Two weeks later Eames is leaving the campus coffeeshop when a man in an expensive coat runs into him, dumping Eames’ coffee, but somehow saving them both from third degree burns.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry, are you all right?” The man asks, laying a leather clad hand on Eames’ wrist.

 

“Yeah, fine. Can’t say the same for my coffee, though.” Eames looks the man over with an appreciative eye. Dark hair slicked back, with soft, brown eyes, watching Eames for hidden injuries.

 

“Let me buy you another. Are you sure you’re not burned?”

 

“Yeah, mate, I’m good. But I’m going to be late for class if I don’t leave right now. Thanks anyway.” Eames smiles, and he really, really wishes his didn’t have a quiz and could skip out to let Mr. Handsome buy him coffee.

 

“Dammit. I really am sorry.” The man does look quite put out, and Eames is charmed.

 

He flashes the man a smile, letting a little wistfullness seep into his voice. “Yeah, me too.”

 

The man perks up, eys wandering over Eames wide shoulders and soft mouth.

 

“Gotta run.” Eames says and walks away, enjoying the feel of the man’s eyes on his ass.

 

When Eames returns to the shop the next day, the manager, Jon, tells him his coffee’s already been paid for. 

 

“By who?” 

 

“Some guy. Came in here yesterday afternoon, asked Riki if she knew who you were, then paid for a week’s worth of coffee for you. He left his card.” John shrugs and hands it over.

 

“I didn’t tell him your name or anything.” Riki offers.

 

“Cheers, I appreciate that.” Eames frowns at the card. There’s no name on it, just a number embossed on one side. Eames flips it over and scrawled across it in red pen is,  _ Sorry about your coffee. Call me. -A _

 

Eames sips his coffee and thinks about the man. He was sexy, in an expensive lawyer kind of way, and Eames can still remember the feel of the man’s leather glove against his skin. Maybe Eames should call him. He’d probably at least get a free dinner out of it. Maybe more. God knows the only time he gets off nowadays is on camera, in front of a bunch of strangers. 

 

Eames immediately feels guilty, thinking of his private chats with PointMan. Those don’t feel anonymous, they never have, but it’s still just a one sided glorified skype session and Eames has been longing for a little touch. He could pick up if he had the time, but between his graduate studies and his cam service, his schedule is pretty tight. For this A, though, he could make an exception.

 

That night, Eames dials the number on the card and is surprised by the terse greeting when the man picks up.

 

“Ah, hi. This is the guy whose coffee you destroyed. Remember me?” 

 

“Of course, hello,” the man says, voice laced with annoyance. “I’m going to have to call you back.”

 

“Um, sure.” Eames says a moment before the call disconnects. Well, so much for that. 

 

Eames isn’t actually expecting his call to be returned, so when his phone rings an hour later, he debates not answering. His curiousity gets the better of him in the end and he picks up on the third ring.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi, this is the coffee killer. Please let me apologize for earlier, I was in an important meeting and couldn’t speak freely.” The man’s voice sounds nice over the phone and Eames decides to see where their conversation might lead.

 

“Two things. One, you don’t actually have to answer your phone when it rings. You can put it on silent, or just swipe to ignore. And two, the majority of our conversations so far revolve around you apologizing to me. Am I sensing a theme?”

 

The man chuckles, deep and rich. “God, I hope not.”

 

“I guess we’ll see,” Eames says. “Thanks, by the way, for all the free coffee. My student budget applauds your tenacity.”

 

“It was the least I could do.” He says, and Arthur hears glass clinking in the background.

 

“So, was there a specific reason you wanted me to call you?” Eames leans back against his headboard, shifting his coursebooks over.

 

“I wanted to ask you to dinner.”

 

“Oh?” Eames smiles.

 

“But you said to stop apologizing, so I guess that plans out the window.”

 

“Now, just wait a minute, let’s discuss this rationally,” Eames says and the man laughs again. “You’ve apologized enough for the coffee, agreed?”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“But there’s still the matter of how rude you were on the phone when I called, and well, I don’t think I’m quite over that injustice, yet.”

 

The man makes a sound of agreement. “Go on.”

 

“Now, seeing as this was our first telephone conversation and I don’t even know you name, you felt our relationship was such that you could be rude to me and still expect me to pick up the phone when you called back-”

 

“And I was right about that.” The man points out.

 

“And you also apparently see no issue with interrupting me, I can not only conclude that dinner, is in fact, warranted, but that dessert will be required as well.”

 

“Well, I can’t argue with that, can I?” He says, sounding amused.

 

“You really can’t. There’s just one more thing.” 

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Tell me your bloody name!”

  
  
  
  


When Eames rings off, he puts the man’s number into his phone under the name Arthur CoffeeKiller. They have a dinner date scheduled for next Friday when Arthur’s business brings him back into town.

 

He tidies up his books, showers, and gets ready for the group chat. It’s open bidding tonight, and PointMan promised he’d be there. He feels bad sometimes when PointMan starts a bidding war on private sessions and the newer members get angry. Strangely, Eames’ bank account doesn’t seem to mind as much.

 

Tonight Eames is wearing camo shorts, a green tank top, and heavy black boots, a little something he pulled out of his suggestion pile. He signs on and the chat lights up with messages. He waves to the camera and says hello, making sure to change his accent to the flat, American one he uses for the videos. Online, he’s just an organic fed, red blooded, Californian boy. 

 

PointMan hasn’t signed on yet, but the bidding for his private chat has begun. He asks if they like his boots, raising his foot to show them, ensuring the cam is aimed up the leg of his shorts. The price for the private chat goes up and Eames smiles. Someone asks him to bend over for the camera, and Eames laughs as the price increases again.

 

Eames answers a few questions about sexual preferences and takes off his shirt. The bidding goes into a frenzy. He thanks the bidders for flattering him and tells them he hopes they have some very specific ideas about what they want from him, claiming there’s just something about wearing camo that makes him want to take orders. His price is almost at a new record when PointMan appears in the chat stream. Eames can almost hear the collective groan from the others as PointMan bids nearly twice what the previous top bid was.

 

Eames waits a few minutes before closing the bidding, rubbing himself through his shorts and reminding his followers that his videos are available for viewing at any time for a small fee. He switches to the private chat room and smiles when there’s already a message waiting.

 

**PointManOne: Sorry I was late. Decided not to mess around with the bidding.**

 

**BIGDREAMER: I’m going to get another complaint about you.**

 

**BIGDREAMER: I’m happy you showed, even if you paid way too much for a private chat again.**

 

Eames waits patiently for PointMan to respond. He thinks about the video feed, which he hasn’t turned on yet, and wonders if he can get PointMan to show himself. He’s tried before, to no avail. PointMan is very private, for all that he wants to know every last detail of Eames’ life. 

 

**PointManOne: You’re worth much more than I paid tonight.**

 

Eames sits up straighter. Every now and then PointMan will show his hand, allowing Eames a glimpse into how much he covets their time together. They don’t always get off when PointMan buys a private chat, sometimes they just talk, but tonight, after flirting with Arthur, and having PointMan flatter him, Eames is ready for a little excitement.

 

**PointManOne: You still looking to follow orders?**

 

**BIGDREAMER: Yes, sir.**

 

**PointManOne: Good. Think you can stay quiet for me?**

 

Eames groans. This is one of his favourite games and he doesn’t get to play it very often. Most men want Eames to gasp and moan through it, vocalizing the pleasure they think they bring to him. In reality, Eames is much quieter, a fact that PointMan seems to have caught on to. The whole thing is made better by the fact that PointMan excels at giving orders.

 

**BIGDREAMER: As a church mouse.**

 

**PointManOne: Excellent. Turn on the video feed.**

 

Eames hurries to comply, trying not to feel disappointed when PointMan’s side of the screen stays dark.

 

“What do I get if I’m good?” Eames asks, knowing the game hasn’t started yet.

 

**PointManOne: What do you want?**

 

Eames thinks for a minute, staring at the blank portion of the screen.

 

“I want something of yours.”

 

**PointManOne: Such as?**

 

“Surprise me.” Eames tells him, centering himself in the window.

 

**PointManOne: Maybe I will. Are you ready to start?**

 

“You tell me.” 

 

**PointManOne: Cheeky. Get some lube and that flare bottom dildo you bought last month.**

 

Eames grins, wishing for a moment that PointMan could see how much he approves of what he’s selected. Eames settles for digging the dildo out of his box of toys and stroking it appreciatively in view of the camera.

 

**PointManOne: I told you you’d love it. Put it to the side for now. I want to see you touch yourself.**

 

This is what makes his time with PointMan stand out; this desire the man has to see what Eames likes. PointMan only ever asks him to perform acts he knows Eames enjoys, and they’ve spent more than one session with Eames simply running his hands over his body, exploring himself. 

 

He closes his eyes, drawing his hands up his chest to his neck. His nails rasp against his stubble and his screen dings.

 

**PointManOne: Show me how you want me to touch you.**

 

Eames wraps his hand around his neck, squeezing gently and wishing he could see how PointMan is reacting. His other hand scratches over his nipple, coaxing it to a peak. 

 

**PointManOne: Keep going. You’re doing so well.**

 

Eames strokes over his chest, following the curving lines of his tattoos. He knows PointMan has a thing for his ink and he’s expressed a desire to finance Eames’ next one. His fingers slide down his stomach, dipping below his waistband of his shorts. The message notification comes a few seconds later.

 

**PointManOne: Not yet.**

 

Eames lets his fingers linger, brushing the soft hair leading to his groin.

 

**PointManOne: I said no.**

 

Eames shivers, imagining what the PointMan’s voice sounds like. He whimpers a little, circling his navel with his fingertips, muscles quivering under the soft touch. He’s hard, his cock straining against the zipper of the shorts.

 

**PointManOne: Take off the shorts and grab the lube. DO NOT touch yourself.**

 

He stands and pops the button, shimmying his hips a little so the shorts fall to the floor. Running his palms over his thighs, he steps carefully out the shorts. The lube is sitting beside his laptop, wrapped in a warm towel. 

 

**PointManOne: Good. Keep the boots on and angle the camera lower.**

 

Eames does as he’s told, waiting patiently for his next set of instructions. 

 

**PointManOne: Do exactly as I say.**

 

**PointManOne: Turn your back to the camera and bend over.**

 

**PointManOne: Get yourself nice and wet. Start with two fingers and don’t stop until you’re four deep.**

 

**PointManOne: You have five minutes.**

 

Eames shudders, quickly turning to obey. He slicks his entire hand, knowing he isn’t going to have time to add more before his time is up, and bends over, bracing himself on the back of the chair. The angle’s a little off, so he puts one foot on the seat of the chair, opening himself up, and hopefully giving the camera a clear view. The computer dings just as he’s pressing in. He twists over his shoulder to see the message, halting his progress.

 

**PointManOne: Perfect.**

 

**PointManOne: Hurry.**

 

Eames sinks his fingers deeper, glad that he took the time to stretch himself a little in the shower before he signed on. Some of his patrons seem to think he doesn’t need any prep, so he’s always sure to be at least halfway there before they even start.

 

He thrusts slowly for a minute before adding a third finger. He can feel the stretch now, but it’s good. He can never get his fingers as deep as he likes them, but he knows this is just the beginning and PointMan won’t leave him feeling empty. Not for the first time, Eames reconsiders giving the man his number. At least then he’d have a voice directly in his ear when they do this.

 

Eames swears when the computer dings.

 

**PointManOne: Two minutes. Keep going.**

 

He speeds up, spreading his fingers as he pulls out, again and again. 

 

**PointManOne: I said four fingers. One minute.**

 

Eames grits his teeth against the stretch and adds a fourth finger, cupping his hand slightly to accommodate it. He’s gasping, leaning heavily on the back of the chair and his wrist is starting to cramp. He stills at the ding of the notification.

 

**PointManOne: Stop.**

 

**PointManOne: You’re doing beautifully. Pull them out and slick up the dildo. Stick it to the chair.**

 

Eames lets out a breathy sigh as he pulls his fingers out of his ass.

 

**PointManOne: You’re so good.**

 

Eames is sure PointMan can see the flush spread across his chest at the praise. He licks the suction cup on the base of the silicone dildo and secures it to the seat of the chair. He pours a generous amount of lube over the tip, spreading it around with his aching fingers. He wipes his hands on the towel he’d had wrapped around lube. 

 

**PointManOne: Start with your back to the camera so I can see it go in.**

 

He adjust the dildo’s position on the chair, swinging his leg in a wide arch to perch above it. Hands braced on the back of the chair, he glances over his shoulder and waits for permission.

 

**PointManOne: Go slow. Think about how badly I wish it were me sinking into you.**

 

It’s not a direction Eames needed, but knowing PointMan wants to fuck him as badly as Eames wants him to, ratchets up his excitement and his hands shakes a little as he steadies the base. He lines up the tip and lowers his ass, thankful for his dedication to core strength. The head of the dildo breaches him and he bites back a moan. He stops once the head is in, breathing through the stretch.

 

The screen dings repeatedly behind him and it’s a struggle to turn enough to see the screen and not drop lower.

 

**PointManOne: Jesus.**

 

**PointManOne: That’s gorgeous. You’re doing so well.**

 

**PointManOne: Keep going. Stop when you bottom out.**

  
  


Eames turns back to focus on lowering himself slowly, bouncing a little to show off how well he’s taking it. It takes some time until he’s full, not because the dildo is terribly long, but because it’s thick. He’d had a record breaking run last month and he’d asked PointMan’s opinion on what he should spoil himself with. Eames told the man it was only right he should get a say, seeing as it was mostly his contributions paying for it. Within the hour, Eames had ordered the dildo, it’s main selling point being PointMan’s admission that it resembled his own member. The suction cup didn’t hurt, either. 

 

Eames closes his eyes and thinks about the string of profanity laced praise he’d received the first time he fucked himself on it and sent the video to PointMan via private message. 

 

The cold wood of the chair is a shock to Eames’ overheated body when he touches down. He rocks his hips back and forth, rising up and dropping back down a few times.

 

**PointManOne: Perfect. Did you think of me?**

 

Eames rocks harder on the chair, arching his back into it.

 

**PointManOne: Good. Now pull off and turn around. Sit back down like I’m holding you in my lap.**

 

Eames is shaky once he’s standing. His cock is weeping and he wastes no time in facing the screen and sinking back down. It takes all his willpower to wait for his next set of instructions.

 

**PointManOne: Show me what you’d do if I were inside you right now.**

 

**PointManOne: Stay quiet, but do anything you want.**

 

**PointManOne: Convince me that you want me and I’ll reward you.**

 

**PointManOne: Go on.**

 

Eames has his hand on his cock and is grinding down onto the chair as soon as the last message comes through. His body’s already on fire and he’s aching for release. Normally Eames can stave off his orgasm for a while, which comes in handy when people are paying him to watch, but he’s got no chance of pulling back when PointMan is flooding his mind with such dangerous ideas. 

 

He’s always pictured PointMan as tall and strong. Shoulders wider than Eames’, and maybe a little grey streaking his temples. The man definitely has a desire to protect and take care of Eames, but he’s also demanding and possessive in turn. He pictures large hands cradling his hips, keeping him steady as he rolls them, fucking down onto the man beneath him. Would PointMan press up into him, meeting him thrust for thrust, or would he sit back and let Eames take his fill, whispering filthy words into sweat slicked skin? His hand is flying over his cock, and he has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. 

 

Eames thinks about the thick, hard cock inside of him, and wonders what his reward might be. He knows what he wants, and that’s for PointMan to level the playing field a little. Eames wants to see him. Any of him. Maybe hear his voice. Most likely, PointMan will promise to buy out the bids on his next few private chats, dominating his time and keeping Eames focused on him.

 

The screen dings and Eames opens his eyes.

 

**PointManOne: I bet you’re all stretched out by now. Think I could fit a finger or two in alongside my cock?**

 

Eames chokes on a moan and his orgasm hits him like a wave, making him seize up around the dildo, his come shooting high across his chest. He still stroking himself through it when the next message pops up.

 

**PointManOne: Don’t move. Stay just like that.**

 

Eames freezes and the dark side of the screen comes to life. A long fingered hand is wrapped loosely around an impressively thick cock, its fat head peeking out above the curve of PointMan’s fingers. Eames forgets how to breath. This might be the most thrilling moment of his life. 

 

PointMan starts stroking, tightening his fist a bit so the ridge of his cockhead catches against his fingers with every pull. Eames is spent and oversensitive, but he can’t help rocking back and forth on the dildo to the rhythm of PointMan’s wanking. Eames can tell that his trousers are still on, he’s simply opened them up and pulled himself out, and it’s one of the sexiest things Eames has ever seen. He licks his lips, eyes hungry for every detail on the screen in front of him. The camera is close, PointMan’s hand and cock taking up the majority of the screen, but he notes the lack of a wedding band, or the absence of a tan where one would be. The hand shifts, focusing on the head, and Jesus, his cock might actually be thicker than the dildo, now that Eames has a better view. PointMan’s cuffs are rolled up and the short stretch of forearm Eames can see makes his mouth water. The muscles are pulled tight, working hard as he strokes, and several prominent veins wind upwards, just under the skin. Eames rocks harder, trailing a hand through the come on his chest, and PointMan curses, pumping hard and spurting over his hand.

 

Eames can hear his ragged breathing through the speakers of his laptop. He thinks he should find it funny, both of them silent and staring at their computer screen, spunk drying on their skin, but the moment feels too heavy to make light of. 

 

PointMan makes the first move, typing with one hand instead of shutting off his camera like Eames thought he might.

 

**PointManOne: Was that okay?**

 

Eames smiles shyly, wishing for the hundrenth time he had the guts to show his face to this man.

 

“That was more than okay,” he says, dragging one of his clean fingers over the spent cock on his computer screen. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

PointMan chuckles, his body shaking slightly. “I’m glad.” He says, quietly, barely more than a whisper.

 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Eames asks, before he can think too hard about it.

 

“Please.” PointMan says, voice slow and sleepy.

 

“I wish you were here,” Eames is surprised at the raw sound of his voice and he chuckles sadly. “God, this is stupid, innit?” He sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

 

“What did you just say?” PointMan demands, voice gone hard and sharp.

 

Eames startles, worried he’s crossed a line. “Nothing, forget it. Forget I said anything,” Somehow he’s crossed a line because PointMan is shoving himself back into his pants and the screen goes black. “I have to go.”

 

He closes the window, starting to panic, worried he went too far and PointMan will never speak to him again. It had been so lovely, so perfect, for just a few minutes before Eames fucked it all up. Now he’s naked and cold, alone with a fake dick up his ass.

  
  
  
  


Eames is late to class the next morning, having spent too long in bed, feeling sorry for himself. He slept poorly, tossing and turning, disappointment and self-loathing churning in his gut. He’s been lying to himself, he thinks, about how close he’s become to the man on the other side of the screen. How much he relies on having someone to talk to, to support him. To make him feel wanted. He has friends, that’s never been an issue, but he was missing a connection. He went and let himself get attached, and now he’s ruined it and doesn’t even know how. 

 

Arthur texts him while he’s in class, pretending he’s paying attention. It seems business has kept him in town and he wants to take Eames to dinner tonight instead of Friday. Eames ignores it and shuts off his phone, not sure if he even deserves someone else’s attention. Realizing he’s been in a pseudo-relationship with a man he’s never met is making his head spin, and letting someone else take him to dinner feels like infidelity. 

 

It’s stupid, he doesn’t know if PointMan is dating anyone, or if he’s married. Eames doesn’t even know his name. He could be balls deep in someone else right now, and Eames gets no say because he’s not real. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much to have it end. It was Eames’ longest and most genuine relationship, and it all boils down to a transaction. PointMan paid Eames for their time together. Every single time. He’s been stupid, reading more into than it is. 

 

Eames is infinitely relieved that he never gave out his name or number, never showed his face. And even that hurts because now he gets to be the coward who blocks PointMan on the site, cutting off all lines of communication. He tells himself it’s for the best. Get out now before things get really messy. 

 

There are no messages from PointMan when he signs in and it steels his resolve. He blocks the other man’s account, reporting it to the mod and cancelling the group chat he had scheduled that night. He showers, and when he turns his phone back on there are three new messages from Arthur.

 

**Arthur CoffeeKiller**

**5:37pm**

_ I know you’re busy, but I’d really like to see you tonight. _

 

**Arthur CoffeeKiller**

**6:45pm**

_ I promise not to throw any of your food on the ground. _

 

**Arthur CoffeeKiller**

**8:29pm**

_ If I’m pestering you, I’m sorry. I’m going to head down to the hotel bar and if you’re not there by 10pm, I’ll take the hint and lose your number. I’m at the Grande on Bellmont. _

 

It’s 9:35pm and Eames needs to make a decision. He looks longingly at his laptop before deciding it’s ridiculous to sit around pining for a man whose entire existence could very well be a lie. Especially when a gorgeous, real life man waits for him in a downtown bar.

 

He throws on a black button up and a pair of charcoal slacks, trying to tame his hair while hunting for his keys and calling a cab. He makes it to the hotel in time to see Arthur paying his bill. He waits in the lobby, smiling guiltily at the relief on Arthur’s face when he spots him.

 

“I really didn’t think you were coming.” Arthur stops in front of him, hands in the pockets of his sinfully tailored pants.

 

“I’ve a bit of a mad day. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

 

“You’re here now,” Arthur gives him a little smile. “Did you want to eat?”

 

“I want to go upstairs.” Eames says, feeling reckless.

 

Arthur gives him a fond look. “I’d like that very much, but are you sure?

 

Eames nods, trailing his hand down the front of Arthur’s vest. “Absolutely.”

 

Arthur takes him by the hand, leading him to the bank of elevators. Once they’re inside, he backs Eames against the wall, brushing a kiss across his cheek, lips lingering on his jaw. Eames inhales shakily, breathing in Arthur’s cologne. Arthur stays close, grazing Eames’ stubble until the elevator dings and the doors open. 

 

Arthur leads them to a suite bigger than Eames’ apartment and asks if Eames wants a drink. 

 

“Thanks.” Eames says and takes a large swallow.

 

A smile plays on Arthur’s lips as he sips his drink. “You seem nervous.”

 

Eames huffs out a  laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“A little. Anything I can do to help?”

 

“Look,” Eames starts, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t usually do this, okay? And I meant that, it’s not just a line.”

 

“I believe you,” Arthur says, stepping closer. “What’s so different about this time?”

 

“Can I be honest with you?” Eames winces, because the last time he was honest it ruined the best thing he had.

 

“Of course.”

 

“I need something.”

 

Arthur raises an elegant eyebrow in response. 

 

“I need to not think for a few hours,” Eames puts down his drink and runs his hands up Arthur’s chest. “I need to be distracted. I need this gorgeous man in front of me to help me turn off my mind. Does that sound possible to you?”

 

“A few hours, huh?” Arthur smirks.

 

“At least,” Eames ducks his head to kiss Arthur’s neck and Arthur’s hands come up to grip his shoulders. “Think you can keep up?”

 

“Or die trying.” Arthur kisses him, hands trailing down to Eames’ lower back to press him closer.

 

Eames opens his mouth and Arthur’s tongue sweeps in, leaving the taste of scotch in its wake.

 

“What do you want?” Arthur asks in between deep kisses.

 

Eames groans and wraps his arms around Arthur’s shoulders. “Anything.”

 

Eames gets lost in Arthur’s mouth for a while, floating blissfully in the feeling of being held. The attention feels amazing, and when Arthur’s hands move Eames’ ass, he hums his approval. He can feel Arthur’s hardness at his hip and his mouth waters, wondering idly how long he can keep the other man from coming with his lips wrapped around his cock.

 

He unbuttons Arthur’s vest, letting it hang open and pulling the shirt out of his waistband. Eames wants to fall to his knees and get Arthur’s trousers open just enough to get at his cock. His hand falters on the zipper, realizing it’s PointMan’s trousers he’s picturing. PointMan’s cock he wants in his mouth.  

 

Arthur is slowly opening the buttons on Eames’ shirt, getting distracted by the mark he’s making over Eames’ pulse point. Eames pushes the thoughts aside, focusing on the man in front of him. The real one. The one that’s actually here. Arthur gets half the buttons undone and then just stops. He pulls back, eyes glued to the ink flowing over Eames’ skin.

 

Eames frowns when Arthur doesn’t continue. “Not a fan?”

 

Arthur startles, glancing up at Eames, his eyes widening. He backs away, gaze jumping between Eames’ face and chest.

 

“Arthur? What is it?” Eames is feeling a bit exposed with the way Arthur’s looking at him.

 

“I didn’t know-I thought maybe, but that’s crazy, right?” He stammers, brow creasing.

 

“You’re kind of freaking me out a little bit. What’s wrong?” Eames moves to rebutton his shirt but Arthur jerks forward to stop him.

 

“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe it’s you,” Arthur’s holding the sides of Eames’ shirt open. “You’re  _ here _ .”

 

Suddenly it clicks, and Eames smacks his hands away, stepping out of reach. Arthur’s a fan. Someone from the site. Of all the people Eames could have run into on the street, it had to be someone that knows him as the guy who jacks off on camera for money. He feels dirty all of a sudden.

 

“I’m leaving.” 

 

“No! Please, just let me explain.” Arthur pleads.

 

“You don’t need to, I understand. I’m not comfortable with you knowing who I am and I’m leaving.” Eames goes to the door, cursing his stupidity. He’s going to have to burn his entire online identity now to keep himself safe, and that’s if Arthur lets this go. He has Eames’ name, his number, God, he even knows what school he goes to.

 

“But you said-”

 

Eames is suddenly angry. “Jesus, Arthur, let me give you some advice. Don’t believe anything said by someone you’re paying for sex. It’s just common sense.”

 

Arthur flushes, his eyes going hard. “So when you told me you missed me, that was a lie? Telling me you wished I was there with you last night was just lip service?”

 

Eames goes cold.

 

“Because I’ve seen you get off for those other guys, and it looks nothing like it does when you’re with me.” 

 

Eames can’t move, his heart is leaping in his chest and his mouth is open, but no sound comes out.

 

Arthur throws his hands up. “Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe I’m an idiot and I fell in love with a stranger on the internet, and I deserve everything coming to me. I’m not generally a gullible person, Eames, so congrats,” he claps his hands together, sneering. “You’re an excellent con man.”

 

“PointMan?” He whispers, unable to believe it’s true.

 

“Oh, so you don’t say those things to every guy?” Arthur goes to the bar, refilling his glass and gulping it down.

 

“Jesus, I can’t believe you’re real.” 

 

Arthur laughs, bitter and sharp. “That was my first thought when I saw your tattoos. It felt too good to be true, you know? Just for a minute, though. You can leave now.”

 

“No.” Eames says, frowning.

 

“No?” Arthur turns back to him, incredulous. “Were you not threatening to do just that.”

 

“I didn’t know it was you.” Eames explains.

 

“What does that matter?” Arthur pours himself another healthy drink.

 

“Because I didn’t know it was you, you ass.” Eames rubs his hand over his face. “How is this happening?”

 

“No idea, but I plan to drink until I don’t remember it.” Arthur empties half the glass before Eames smacks it out of his hand, crystal tumbler bouncing, amber liquid soaking into the carpet.

 

“What the hell happened last night?”

 

“You were there.” Arthur looks away.

 

“Yeah, and I’ve no clue how everything went to shit so quickly. I crossed a line, I get that, but you sounded so angry.”

 

“You’re accent threw me off.” Arthur offers.

 

“What accent? My accent was perfect.” Eames steps back, offended.

 

“Not that bullshit voice you speak with online,  _ your _ accent,” Arthur pauses, taking a breath. “After you told me you wished, well, you know. You said it was stupid, but you dropped into  _ your _ accent.”

 

“Shit.” Eames whispers.

 

“Yeah. Imagine my surprise when you suddenly have an accent that matches that of a young student I’m trying to distract myself with. I thought I was going crazy.”

 

“I feel like I might be going crazy right now, myself,” Eames says, ruefully. “What did you need a distraction from?”

 

“You! Or, the other you. The online you. You’ve slowly been taking over my life. I fucking arrange my business around your site schedule!”

 

“Oh.” Eames smiles.

 

“ _ Oh? _ That’s all you have to say?” 

 

“I want to cancel chats when I know you’re not going to be there.” Eames tells him.

 

“You’re paying for school by doing the chats, aren’t you?”

 

“Yeah,” Eames shrugs. “Things used to be simpler. Before you.”

 

Arthur laughs. “Yeah.”

 

“Did you mean what you said before? The falling in love bit?”

 

“I don’t know. Honestly, everything is so screwed up right now. I thought I was.”

 

Eames nods. “Right.”

 

“But,” Arthur steps forward, careful not to touch Eames. “Now that we’re both here, and it doesn’t appear that either of us was leading the other on, maybe we could try this again.”

 

“A bit difficult to go back to before, innit? I mean, you watched me do unspeakable thing to myself.”

 

“And paid for the priviledge.” Arthur smiles.

 

“I don’t want you to pay me anymore.” Eames blurts, cheeks warming.

 

“And I don’t want you to do it for anyone else. So where does that leave us?”

 

Eames steps closer, until his chest is brushing Arthur’s with every breath. “Right about here.”

 

Arthur puts a tentative hand on Eames’ waist, fingers clutching at the material of his shirt.

 

“I never lied to you,” Eames says, voice quiet. “Not once. I meant every word.”

 

Arthur pulls in a shaky breath, slipping his hand under the shirt to drift over Eames’ ribs. “I didn’t lie either. Except when I kept myself from speaking, and that was just me lying to myself.”

 

“Think we can try again?” Eames asks.

 

“From the beginning?” 

 

“No,” Eames slides his hand to the back of Arthur’s neck. “From right here. Here is good.”

 

Arthur’s kiss is soft and almost shy, like he’s trying not to scare Eames away. This time, when Arthur’s hands make their way to his buttons, they don’t stop until Eames’ shirt is on the floor. The rest of their clothing joins it quickly, Arthur mapping out what he’s never had the chance to touch, and Eames hungry for flesh he’s never seen.

 

“What do you want?” Arthur asks again, this time sounding like there’s no limit to what he’ll do for Eames.

 

“Everything.”

 

Arthur smiles against Eames’ mouth. “Greedy.”

 

“God, yes.” he agrees, kissing Arthur deeply until he’s pushed back onto the bed.

 

Arthur kisses down his chest, lips exploring every inch of skin available, tongue tracing ink, and teeth grazing nipples until Eames is gasping and arching under him. He grabs lube from the stand beside the bed and dropping it in the process. Eames laughs until he’s groaning, Arthur’s fingers stretching him, deliciously competent.

 

Eames’ cock slides between Arthur’s lips just as Arthur adds a third finger, hollowing his cheeks and pressing in deeper. Eames is rubbing his hands over Arthur’s skull, making encouraging noises intercepted by the occasional sob when Arthur flicks his tongue over his slit. Arthur is four fingers deep and Eames scratches his nails down Arthur’s neck, spreading his legs wider and pleading with him to hurry.

 

Arthur’s mouth works Eames’ cock as he deals with the condom and spreads more lube over it. Eames gets a good look when Arthur pulls off and shuffles forward to line himself up with Eames’ ass.

 

Eames curses and hooks his hands behind his knees. Arthur laughs and presses his thighs wider, spreading Eames open and nudging the curve of his cockhead to Eames’ hole. 

 

“I’ve dreamed about this.” Arthur confesses, looking down at Eames, his gaze impossibly fond.

 

“You’re not dreaming now.” Eames wiggles, making Arthur smile.

 

“No,” he says, pressing in. 

 

Arthur was careful and patient with Eames, and he opens up beautifully, rim flexing to pull Arthur in. He doesn’t stop until his hips are flush with Eames’ ass and they’re both breathing heavy.

 

“Jesus,” Eames gasps, groaning when he squeezes around Arthur’s thickness. “That feels amazing.”

 

“Yeah?” Arthur grins, pulling out until just the head is inside, and sliding all the way back in in one smooth stroke.

 

Eames nods, grabbing at Arthur to pull him closer. “So full. Fuck me.”

 

Arthur pulls Eames’ bottom lip between his teeth, growling. “Say please.”

 

Eames stares into Arthur’s dark brown eyes, finally, finally able to hear the desire and the passion in his voice as he makes Eames come undone. “Please, Arthur,” he pleads. “Fuck me.”

 

Arthur’s smile is fond, but wicked as he teases Eames, thrusting slow and shallow. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

 

Eames nods, shuddering when Arthur slips out and pressed back in, quicker than before.

 

“I didn’t think you could get any better, but here you are. You’re a revelation.” Arthur breathes into his ear, plunging a little deeper, and little harder.

 

“Yes,” Eames tries to grab at Arthur, but his legs are between them and all he can do is lay there and take what Arthur gives him. It’s exquisit. “God, you’re voice.”

 

“Yeah?” Arthur gives him a few quick thrusts before slowing down again, pulling a whine from Eames. “What happened to ‘hours’?”

 

Eames raps his hands around the back of Arthur’s skull, pulling him closer. “My refractory period is not a camera trick. Fuck me, already.”

 

Arthur laughs, speeding up. “My pleasure.” He presses Eames knees to his chest and hauls himself higher, until his weight is centered onto Eames, crushing him to the mattress as he fucks him with deep, hard strokes.

 

Eames can barely breath, but the feeling of Arthur’s cock spearing into him, heavy and unforgiving, is better than anything he’s ever felt, and he clutches at any part of Arthur he can reach.

 

Arthur never stops whispering praise, raw and honest as he slams himself into Eames’ body, never slowing down, never relenting until Eames is begging to come, unable to take being on the edge any longer. Arthur snakes a hand between them, barely closing his fingers around him before Eames is crying out and spurting over his belly. Arthur coaxes him through it, increasing his assault on Eames’ senses by rising onto his toes and burying his cock as deep as it will go as Eames spasms around him.

 

When Eames is done, Arthur backs off, slowly lowering Eames’ legs and wrapping them around his waist. He covers Eames’ body with his own, kissing Eames’ temple, his ear, the corner of his mouth. He surges into Eames, careful and slow, smiling down at him like he still can’t believe Eames is real.

 

“It’s okay,” Eames tells him, kissing Arthur’s panting mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Arthur nods, brow creasing as he strokes deeper. Eames digs his heels into Arthur’s back, arching up to meet him halfway. Arthur clenches his jaw and keens, fucking Eames as he comes, stopping only when he risks losing the condom.

 

“Christ, you’re intense.” Eames tells him with wonder, stroking Arthur’s hair off his brow.

 

“Is that a compliment or a complaint?” Arthurs asks, tossing the rubber in the garbage and collapsing beside Eames.

 

“A compliment, for sure.” Eames says and Arthur smiles. Eames presses his thumb to one of Arthur’s dimples.

 

“You’re,” Arthur starts, frowning. 

 

“Um,”

 

“You’re more than I could have hoped for,” Arthur says seriously. “I’m a little overwhelmed to be honest.”

 

Eames gapes at him. “That was you overwhlemed?”

 

Arthur laughs, pulling Eames onto his chest. “Shut up, I’m sure it won’t be that intense next time.”

 

“Next time, huh?” Eames smiles into Arthur’s skin.

 

“I’ll be back next month. Is that okay?” 

 

Eames turns onto his stomach, resting his chin on Arthur’s chest. “You travel a lot.”

 

“I do,” Arthur says, tracing a tattoo on Eames’ bicep. “But I’ll make time for you.”

 

“Well, we already know how to do this long distance.”

 

“This isn’t that. At least, I hope it’s not. I want to be with you, Eames. And I don’t want either of us to be with anyone else. I know that’s not fair of me to ask, especially since you have school to pay for, but I can’t do this with you otherwise. I can’t share you anymore.”

 

Eames wants to protest, it is, after all, hypocritical and possessive of Arthur to demands this of him, but Arthur’s face is pinched, like he knows he has no right to ask for this.

 

“I get it, I do, and I don’t want to share you, either. I only have this semester left until I graduate, and if I’m really careful, I can make it work. But I don’t know you, Arthur. How do I trust you?”

 

“I don’t think there’s anything I can say to convince you. You’re right, we don’t know each other, not really. The parts of us that are compatible right now maybe not matter if nothing else in our lives work together,” Arthur scratches at Eames’ scalp, looking troubled. “I’ll make you a deal, though.”

 

“What’s that?” Eames asks, and he wants so badly for Arthur to convince him they can make this work.

 

“Let’s continue with our usual online relationship, only off the site, and without the payments and hidden faces. No more blank screens, and maybe with less sex and more getting to know each other. And in three months, if we still want to continue, you let me take you somewhere we can be together every day. Figure things out together.”

 

Arthur sounds hopeful, and Eames wants this so badly. “Where would we go?”

 

“I have an apartment in Paris. And one in Berlin. Also New York. We can go pretty much anywhere you want. It will be my graduation present to you. To us.”

 

“I don’t want to be kept, Arthur. I’ll have my degree and I plan on using it.”

 

Arthur grins at him. “Good. I don’t want a pet, Eames, I want a partner.”

 

Eames returns Arthur’s smile, stretching up for a kiss. It feels good. Right. “Let’s do this. But first, you owe me dessert.”

  
  



End file.
